


Romance Is...

by Rrrowr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crossdressing, Episode: s05e04 The End, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:58:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>End!Verse, Dean and Cas spend a night together before battle</p>
            </blockquote>





	Romance Is...

There’s no explanation or forewarning   
Underneath, all the crimson linings   
We approach the streets with a clear conscience we’ll survive   
Let it all fall down   
Let it all fall down


*

Dean knows he shouldn’t want or need this. Still, after a notably successful mission — as successful as they can be these days — and dealing with the awful reminder of just how hopeful he used to be, complete with bizarro world muck ups, Castiel’s languid enticements are exactly what he needs coax him into bed. More than just to bed, even, stretched as he is between the press of Cas’s cock and the iron bar that is the headboard of his bed. His cock is trapped, cupped heavy and hot behind the tight stretch of pink panty, and Castiel makes no move to help him free. Castiel’s palm finds the shape of him and strokes him through satin, heedless of Dean urging him to finish them off.

Castiel pushes him to the edge with an easy sort of practice — the kind that Dean used to be happily familiar with but now approaches with a kind of duty. His cock slots deep into Dean’s body, and Dean seizes in panicked response, caught up for a moment in the idea of being pinned under superior strength, where he could struggle for hours hopelessly. It's not a feeling he likes, but as always, Castiel knows without Dean having to say.

“Easy now,” Castiel says in a low murmur, petting Dean’s flank, but neither lays his weight on Dean’s back nor hooks his fingers into the hollows of Dean’s hips. He thrusts with a steady pressure that does not waver no matter how much Dean might squirm. “Don’t think.”

Yet Dean can do nothing but think. He thinks about the smokey drag of incense in his lungs and the callused touch of Castiel’s fingers over his belly. He thinks about the decadent softness of the panties pushed down around his ass to make way for Castiel’s cock and the bone-deep certainty that he should be humiliated by wearing them. Despite the presence of such a feminine article of clothing, Castiel is no different for it. His touch is firm and graceless. He isn’t any more or less gentle with Dean than he ever was. The way he says Dean’s name in low, intimate tones makes Dean ache with the knowledge that even now, brought down as they both are, Castiel believes him worthy of being saved.

Castiel slides his fingers into the loops of cloth twisted around his legs. He has big hands — bigger than Dean had realized before they started doing things like this — and one pulls and stretches at the panties until Dean bows his head, unable to stop the groan that spills past his lips.

“Cas—”

One hand covers Dean’s over the iron bar and very carefully, Castiel settles against him. His voice is a reassuring rumble against Dean’s sweaty hairline: “I’m here.”

Dean chokes on his pleas before they can even be voiced. He knows that Castiel says more to the women he gorges himself on. Sometimes, he can’t avoid hearing it when his quarters are next door and because it seems like Castiel’s voice carries itself right to Dean’s ear with the same ease it had with Heaven’s blessing behind it. Castiel can and will urge them on with small praises that they soak up like rain in the desert, but Castiel has never used those tactics on Dean. He doesn’t seem to need to. All Dean needs is Castiel himself. His uncompromising warmth. The thick press of his body against Dean’s. His absolute determination to follow Dean wherever he may lead, to whatever end — be it in battle or behavior or in bed.

Castiel hums (happily, Dean thinks) against his mouth when Dean turns to kiss him. He parts Dean’s lips with his tongue and slides deep without Dean having to offer invitation. It’s the effortless assumption of his body that Dean’s been waiting for, one he returns hungrily, overwhelmed by the understanding inherent in the act. Dean comes almost without meaning to and Castiel follows him immediately, noiseless but for his soft gasps.

Afterward, Castiel laughs. His smile curves like a sharp blade against Dean’s shoulder, but he only noses gently against the raised hand print that’s still there after all these years. He withdraws without hesitation, though his hands smooth over the lines of Dean’s back as he does so — petting him again, soothing him down from the physical rush of things. In the silence, the pull of Castiel’s fingers under the elastic band of the panties — untangling them, smoothing the cloth around Dean’s hips again — and the snap of the waistline falling back into place is pretty ludicrous.

So Dean twists. He pulls Cas in for another kiss, laughing into it, and when they part, he admits in a hard rush that, “Tomorrow’s gonna suck.”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees. “Fighting our way through thousands of Croats will do that.”

“There’s still a chance,” Dean insists. He’s not thinking of the Colt; that’s one in a billion, but he can’t allow himself to let it pass even if it were one in a hundred billion. His mind is on the other Dean, the one from the past, the one that’s probably brooding in the dark somewhere.

“A chance,” Castiel echoes. He lays one hand on his brand and the other on Dean’s cheek and stretches up to kiss Dean’s brow, the corner of his eye, his cheek, his mouth... Castiel lingers then, resting his forehead against Dean’s. His eyes are downcast; his lips form a small, sad smile. His thumb sweeps across Dean’s cheek. 

“A chance,” Castiel says again in a whisper. “But not for us.”


End file.
